Against Her Will
by Kendris
Summary: Sequel to The Moonless Night. Phaere pays dearly for her love for Solaufein, but can she escape the prison that Ardulace has created for her?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: A Word of Explanation_

_"Moonless Night" was initially begun as an exploration of Solaufein's past for "What Matters The Most"; as I wrote, however, the story began to take on a life apart from my original intent. The hints of depth that the makers of BG2 gave to Phaere in the game intrigued me, and killing her off was one of the most difficult decisions that I have made to date in writing WMTM. I therefore deliberately omitted any direct reference to WMTM in Moonless Night, allowing it to continue to serve its original purpose as a background piece for that story, while freeing me up to explore an alternate tale of what might have been (economical, if I do say so myself)._

_Jessime will **not **be the Bhaalspawn who eventually appears in this story, and there will be variations in events from both the game and WMTM in this story. Only the events of "Moonless Night" will be the same in both._

* * *

Matron Ardulace passed through the iron doors of the Temple of Lolth, barely noticing the massive ebony spider sculpted into the stone of the front of the temple, its first set of arms stretching down to form the frame of the doorway. Inside, the halls had vaulted ceilings and intricately carved arches spaced throughout their length, their purpose more than ornamental. The cobwebs that festooned the upper levels of the hallways might have been taken as a sign of neglect and uncleanliness in other environs, but in the house of the Spider Goddess, these webs housed the smallest of her servants. The smallest…but far from the least dangerous. A single bite from one of these arachnids, whose size ranged from barely an inch across to the span of a hand, would either paralyze or kill (depending on the species) a grown man in seconds.

Denizens of the webs occasionally dropped to the floor from above, scuttling to the wall to ascend again, but aside from taking care not to tread on them, Ardulace was unconcerned by their presence; even when one fell into her hair, she simply paused, extending her hand to the wall to allow the creature to scurry down her arm as it returned to its web. The spiders would only bite at the command of the Handmaidens, or – more rarely – at the direct command of Lolth herself, and Ardulace knew herself to be in favor with the Spider Queen…for now.

The drow that she encountered as she proceeded received less consideration from her than the spiders, for she took absolutely no notice of them as they stepped out of her way, heads bowed in proper subservience. This was as it should be; she would notice one only if they were slow to give way to her, or failed to show her the obeisance she was due, and the consequences of that notice would not be favorable.

Equally ignored was the female drow who trailed in her wake, trying to mirror her demeanor of cold superiority, but obviously feeling less at ease, flinching when a spider dropped near her, although she suppressed it quickly. She was as tall as the matron, but rather than the deep purple robes of Ardulace, with their intricately embroidered patterns of silver in shimmering imitation of the webs that adorned the ceiling above, the younger woman wore armor of black leather and a curved saber hanging at each hip. Her hair was pale gold, in contrast to Ardulace's long, silver tresses, but her crimson eyes, the color of half-dried blood, were identical to those of the older woman.

They turned into a hall that spiraled downward, past doors through which screams echoed. The smooth stone floor was stained with dried blood, and the air was saturated with the scent of blood, sweat, urine and…something else: something dark and pungent, the sour odor of fear and pain commingling to create a taint in the air that lingered even on the extremely rare occasions when all the rooms in this area were empty.

Ardulace came to a stop outside an iron door at the end of the hall and paused, listening.

Silence. Either the Handmaidens had paused in their work or had been overly enthusiastic and killed their subject. The former was by far the most likely possibility; the Handmaidens of Lolth were highly skilled in their duties.

Ardulace was reaching for the handle of the door when the younger woman spoke.

"It has been a month, Matron."

The drow turned her crimson gaze to her attendant. "What of it?" she asked, her tone making it clear that a pertinent observation had best be forthcoming.

The younger woman hesitated, then pressed on. "The situation is becoming known throughout Ust Natha. Would it not be better simply to kill her, to demonstrate that you will not tolerate such insubordination in your House?"

"Kill her," the Matron echoed thoughtfully. "That would leave you the eldest of my daughters and my heir apparent, would it not, Rhenael?" she asked, her voice giving no hint of her thoughts or emotions.

Rhenael raised her chin, though not so high as to directly meet her mother's eyes. "You could do worse," she stated boldly. "I, at least, have not disgraced House Despana with my behavior."

"No, you have not," Ardulace agreed readily. "However, I am not convinced of your competency," she continued in the same bland voice. "Your attempt to have me assassinated was a clumsy and dismal failure."

The younger drow turned grey at her words, taking a half step back. "Matron, I –"

Ardulace held up a finely boned hand to forestall her words. "Do not insult me by attempting to deny it. The clumsy oaf that you sent into my chambers confessed everything to me before I brought him here, to be eviscerated and left alive for the rats to finish. You I permitted to live, because your actions indicate ambition, if not judgment. The latter may come with experience. However," she continued, her voice becoming as hard as the iron of the door before them, "I will not look upon further attempts on my life with such tolerance. If any occur, I will assume that you are responsible, and your sister's fate will seem kind compared to what you will face. Do you understand me?"

Rhenael swallowed hard. "Yes, Matron," she whispered.

"Good." Ardulace maintained her neutral expression, but inside she permitted herself a smirk of satisfaction. Not only was Rhenael unlikely to make any further tries at assassination, but knowing that she would be held responsible for _any_ attempt, she would be forced to vigilantly protect the one that she desired to supplant. "As for the notion of killing your sister, it is precisely because the details of the situation have become so widely known that I cannot take such action. To kill her would proclaim to all of Ust Natha that I cannot control the heir to my House, and by inference, my House itself. Such an appearance of weakness cannot be permitted."

"But if things continue in this fashion, will not the same appearance of weakness result?" Rhenael dared to ask, albeit in a much more humble tone, Ardulace noted with approval.

"It will," she agreed. "Which is why it ends today." Turning, she grasped the heavy bronze handle and turned it, entering the room. Rhenael, her eyes afire with curiosity, followed her closely.

Phaere hung in the center of the round room, suspended by her wrists from chains that ran up to pulleys in the ceiling and down to a wheel that could be turned to raise or lower her. She was low enough to the ground that, by putting her weight on the tips of her toes, she could relieve some of the strain on her arms, but such a position would cause severe cramps in the feet and calves within minutes. She hung limply now, completely naked, every inch of her body covered in deep, bleeding gouges. Blood matted her hair, dripped from her fingers and toes to the floor, where shallow channels directed its flow to a drain. Around the perimeter of the room, instruments of torture rested upon the floor or hung upon the wall.

Over the past few weeks, Phaere had been subjected to them all. She had been whipped until her skin hung from her in tatters, flayed in inch-wide strips down her back, had countless bones broken, been burned by magefire, acid and lightning, branded by white-hot irons, and violated both vaginally and anally by a variety of devices designed to elicit sensations far removed from pleasure. She had been driven to the brink of death time and again, and through it all, she had uttered not a word, save screams of pain, fury and defiance.

"She lost consciousness a few minutes ago." Ardulace turned to face the speaker, a Handmaiden who approached them, a cat-o-nine-tails swinging lazily from one hand, the shards of metal at the tip of each lash glinting in the dim glow of the magefire that burned in a brazier against the wall. She was as naked as Phaere, and very nearly as bloody, though the blood that splattered her from head to toe was that of her victim. Her nudity might have been a matter of simple expediency, it being easier to wash blood from skin than from clothing, or it might have been for other reasons. Handmaidens selected for such duties were even more ruthless than usual, and many derived various types of pleasure from the tasks they engaged in.

Ardulace could not tell if this one – Kadrinthe was her name – was among their number. Her silver eyes, contrasting eerily with the glistening mask of blood that covered her face, were cool and emotionless as she stopped before them, bowing respectfully to Ardulace, completely unselfconscious about her nudity. "I was giving her time to awaken before I continued. If you wish to watch, I would recommend that you stand against the wall." A faint gleam of anticipation appeared in her eyes, then was gone. "This particular method is quite – messy."

So she _was_ one of those that derived pleasure from the pain she inflicted. Ardulace filed this information away in her mind for future use as she shook her head, saying, "Heal her."

Kathindre frowned at her words. "Are you certain?" she asked. "She is still far from reaching her limits of tolerance." Phaere was completely healed after each session, not only to allow her to fully experience the pain of the next round of torture, but because Ardulace had not wanted her to have any permanent scars; she wanted no proof of what had been required to bring her wayward daughter under control.

"I am certain," Ardulace responded, ignoring her insolence in questioning a Matron, however respectfully; this _was_ her domain, after all. "I have decided that a different approach is called for."

Disappointment flickered briefly across the Handmaiden's features, then vanished as quickly as the anticipation had. "As you wish," she replied dutifully, "although I have been enjoying the challenge. I have never had a subject so difficult to break. Her will is incredibly strong."

Ardulace did not reply as Kathindre strode over to the chain wheel and released the lock mechanism, allowing Phaere's limp form to fall to the channeled floor. Strong willed, she was; intelligent, cunning and ruthless, unmatched in combat and, until recently, unwavering in her ambition. She would have been the ideal successor to Ardulace, one of the most powerful matrons Ust Natha had ever seen, yet she had been ready to abandon it all…and for a _male_!

The Matron watched with steely eyes as the Handmaiden knelt beside Phaere, pouring the contents of a potion bottle into her slack mouth. No, to kill her would be as unacceptable as allowing her to leave would have been. Both would be seen as failures in the eyes of the other Matrons, as weakness, and weakness of any kind was something to be exploited in any way possible. To preserve her own status, Phaere must remain her heir, in appearances, at least, and would have to emerge from the Temple stronger and more ruthless than before. And Ardulace had realized that there was only one way to accomplish this.

Phaere coughed as the faintly glowing blue liquid entered her mouth, then swallowed convulsively, her body curling instinctively into a protective ball. Kathindre grabbed her chin firmly, forcing her to turn her face upward and pouring the rest of the potion into her mouth, holding her in an iron grip until she had swallowed it all.

"Remove her chains and leave us," Ardulace ordered. Kathindre obediently retrieved the keys to the manacles, returning to Phaere to release her before leaving, pulling the heavy door closed behind her.

Ardulace watched silently, Rhenael to her left and slightly behind her, as Phaere lay motionless for a long moment, eyes closed. At last, her eyes opened, staring first at the floor covered with her own blood, then at her body, its wounds healed but still sticky with half dried blood. Raising herself up slowly, supporting her weight with her left arm, she raised her head. A faint sneer of contempt curled her lips as her eyes fell on Rhenael, but it vanished, leaving her face an expressionless mask as her gaze turned to Ardulace.

A minute passed in silence, then another, as the bloodied figure on the floor regarded Ardulace with the wary gaze of a captured predator, one who knew itself to be at the mercy of its captor, yet remained ready and willing to tear the throat from that captor, should the opportunity arise. Ardulace nodded to herself. Unbroken, indeed. Such strength _would_ be made to serve Despana; she had the means to ensure it.

"So you still resist," she said coldly.

"I will never submit to you," Phaere replied as she drew herself to her feet, her voice rough from the endless screams that had been her only vocalization for the last month. "I will never be what you desire me to be. I never desired it in the first place, but I was never given a choice." She raised her defiant eyes to fully meet Ardulace's gaze, something expressly forbidden unless a Matron ordered it.

Rhenael stepped forward, her hand raised for a blow. "You will show proper respect to the Matron, filth!"

Ardulace simply waited, knowing what was coming. Rhenael on her best day could never hope to match Phaere on her worst. The elder of her daughters let the younger come to her, and sidestepped the blow with feline grace, grabbing her arm and twisting it up behind her back, a sweep of her leg knocking Rhenael's feet from under her and forcing her to the ground. She landed heavily on her stomach, and Phaere was immediately astride her back, pinning her to the bloody stone, one hand maintaining its iron grip on the captured arm, while the other drew one of Rhenael's own blades, raising it high for what was obviously meant to be a decapitating blow.

A single word from Ardulace and a slight gesture with her right hand released a spell that sent Phaere flying across the room, crashing heavily against the rack upon which she had spent the better part of a day earlier in her confinement. As she slumped to the floor, Rhenael rolled to her feet, retrieving the blade that Phaere had dropped and starting forward with murder in her eyes.

"Enough!" Ardulace's voice cracked across the room like a whip, and Rhenael immediately stopped. "Leave us, Rhenael. Now."

The warrior turned to Ardulace in astonishment. "But Matron," she began to protest, but the icy stare of her mother silenced her even before Ardulace spoke.

"You are quite plainly unsuitable as a bodyguard," she told her daughter coldly. "I suggest that you spend several days in the arenas, improving your skills."

Casting a final, venomous glare at Phaere, Rhenael sheathed her sword and stalked silently from the room. Ardulace ignored her departure, her eyes on Phaere as she pulled herself upright, using the rack to steady herself.

"So you are not here to kill me?" she asked, her voice low and steady. "Perhaps you would care to watch Kathindre at work? She is quite talented; the highest ranking of the Maidens of Pain. I suppose I should be honored to be considered worthy of her attentions." Her mouth quirked into a bitter smile as she spoke.

"Her skills are indeed well known," Ardulace replied, "but I did not come here to observe, but to offer you a final chance to willingly assume your position as my heir and chief lieutenant of Despana."

Phaere shook her head, her expression as unyielding as if it had been carved from obsidian. "My answer is the same as it was when you had me brought before you the first time." She had been detained trying to leave, and it had been then that Ardulace had realized that she had deeply underestimated her daughter's attachment to Solaufein. She had given the girl an ultimatum: sever all contact with the male, but to her astonishment, Phaere had not only refused, but renounced her birthright and position within Despana. The unexpected defiance had enraged Ardulace, but alarmed her as well. Solaufein's house was beneath Despana in the hierarchy, and his seduction could well have been conducted on the orders of his Matron, for the sole purpose of embarrassing Ardulace. She had considered having him killed, but realized that not only could such an act lead to open warfare with his house and its allies, it would also make him a martyr in Phaere's eyes, rendering her devotion to his memory all but unbreakable

She had instead sent Phaere into the Temple of Lolth and the ministrations of the Spider Queen's Handmaidens, certain that she would quickly abandon any foolish emotional ties once she was made to realize the inescapable consequences of such weakness.

But now the girl stood before her, after weeks of the harshest tortures the Maidens of Pain could devise, as proudly defiant as she had been the day she had entered the Temple, and although Ardulace was careful to keep her face expressionless, inwardly she was seething at the waste of such potential. If she had only realized earlier the degree of threat that that cursed male had posed, she could have arranged an 'accident' for him. Phaere might have grieved the loss of her 'love', the Matron thought, with a silent sneer at the term, but she would have recovered, come to realize how weak her love had made her, and once more become the pride of Despana, as cold-blooded, ruthless and ambitious as she had been before.

Now there was only one option left to her. Ardulace refused to become a laughingstock among the Great Houses, refused to lose any of the prestige that she had so painstakingly built over her century of rule. She had spent the past three days preparing the spell that would ensure that the rest of Ust Natha saw exactly what she desired it to see: a united and powerful House Despana, its Matron in full control with her eldest daughter and heir at her side.

"Did you really think that I would ever allow you to leave this place with that male?" she asked in a deadly quiet voice. That I would allow you to spit upon your birthright? By Lolth, girl, you could be the most powerful Matron that Ust Natha has ever seen…unite all the houses under your rule!"

Phaere cocked her head, considering the idea. "Would that not require that I kill you first?"

Ardulace snorted. "You would…eventually, just as I killed my own mother to gain my position." She smiled coldly. "But it will not be easy, I promise you. Rhenael has already discovered that."

"Rhenael is an incompetent fool," Phaere replied dismissively. "She has attempted three times to kill me. Once I kill you and become Matron, I become an even more desirable target, forced to remain ever vigilant for the dagger in my back, the poison in my cup. Why should I want that?"

"For the power that you gain!" Ardulace exclaimed, wondering if the torture had affected Phaere's mind after all, that she could not see such an obvious thing. "You kill any who threaten you, until none dare to challenge your might!"

Phaere shook her head slowly. "That is never something that I wanted, but I never believed that there was any other choice for me, save death. Solaufein has shown me a chance for something more." Her eyes closed, and the peaceful expression on her face revolted Ardulace.

"Showed you what? Love?" Ardulace replied, sneering openly now. "All love is foolish…an illusion designed to weaken the strong…and I am certain that his Matron has rewarded him well for engineering your downfall so skillfully."

Phaere's eyes opened, but instead of the doubt and anger she had hoped to provoke, she saw only calm resolve. "You will never convince me of that," she said calmly. "Return me to the Maidens for more torture or kill me outright; I love Solaufein, and you can never take that from me."

_So be it._ "Perhaps not," Ardulace replied, releasing a spell that held Phaere immobile and silent. The next spell to be cast was complex, and Phaere was more than capable of killing her while it was being cast. She could have left her in chains, but she wanted her power over her daughter to be made plain. "But I can take his love from you, make you watch as love turns to hate; perhaps then you will realize your mistake and come to your senses, but regardless, you _will_ return to your position as the heir to Despana…and you will behave exactly as I order you."

She began to chant, her hands weaving complex patterns in the air. Phaere's eyes widened in recognition, and she began to struggle against the spell that restrained her, mouthing words that could have been curses or pleas, but the spell held firm, and she could only watch helplessly as the geas was cast upon her.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Notes: Many thanks for the reviews! Glad that my characterization of Ardulace was sufficiently ruthless; good villains are a pain to write. As to the geas, the one placed on the PC in Neverwinter Nights HotU expansion was done without consent, so I figured that this one could be, as well. My interpretation of the way the geas functions in this story is probably not canon, strictly speaking, but when has that ever stopped me? ;-)_

_And yes, the story will carry through to a conclusion…although I'm not quite certain what that conclusion will be just yet._

* * *

Ardulace's movements had not gone unnoticed in Ust Natha. More than one Matron received a report from an underling of her entry into the Temple and dispatched the messenger with orders to return with further information when she emerged. 

Matron Illaine of House Tathyyran watched impassively as the messenger hastily left, then issued a curt command to one of the armed warriors at her side. The female left immediately, returning a short time later with Solaufein behind her.

"You sent for me, Matron?" the male asked, kneeling before her subserviently, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"If I had not, you would not be here, fool," she observed contemptuously. She had come close to having him sacrificed a month ago; only his unmatched skill as a fighter-mage and the possibility that he still might prove useful in causing further damage to Despana had kept him alive.

"Of course, Matron," he replied immediately. "What do you wish of me?"

"Ardulace has gone into the Temple of Lolth," she told him, watching carefully for any response from him. "It seems that she has grown tired of being made the laughingstock of Ust Natha by her daughter's weakness." She smirked. "I have heard that Phaere still proclaims her love for you; you are to be congratulated on such a cunning manipulation."

"All love is foolish," Solaufein said matter-of-factly, "and fools are easily manipulated. I hope only that Despana's disgrace will lead to greater stature for Tathyyran."

Illaine studied him with narrowed eyes. She could almost believe his words, even though they both knew them to be lies, told for the benefit of the other ears within the chamber…and for any ears beyond that that might hear what had been spoken. The fool had been as besotted with the Despana bitch as she had been with him, but allowing it to appear that it had all been a ruse, conducted at the behest of the Matron of Tathyyran, suited her purposes well. That did not, however, mean that she was required to forego punishing him for the weakness which had so nearly disgraced her House. There were more subtle tortures than tentacle rods, particularly for one weak enough to permit himself to love another.

"Do you think Phaere has broken at last?" she inquired of him coolly. "I have heard rumors of the punishments that have been visited upon her; she has become something of a legend among the Handmaidens, but surely she cannot withstand them indefinitely. Or perhaps Ardulace has lost patience and decided to simply kill her and be done with it."

"Either would serve our interests equally well," Solaufein replied with calm detachment, giving no hint of the torment that she knew clawed at him. "A broken heir will be as great a hindrance to Despana as a dead one…perhaps more so."

"Indeed," Illaine agreed, silently approving of his discipline. If he could be cured of his weakness, he would remain a valuable asset to Tathyyran. "If Phaere retains her status, it would be in our interest to continue to test her resolve. Ardulace will not be likely to forgive a second lapse, wouldn't you agree?"

"Almost certainly, Matron," the male agreed. "It is surprising that she has not killed Phaere before now."

Or perhaps not surprising, Illaine reflected silently. The young female was skilled in battle, but equally adept at the subtle intrigues required in drow politics. Ardulace undoubtedly wished to redeem her daughter for precisely the same reasons that the other Matrons wanted her discredited or dead: she would be a strong heir, well able to further Despana's ambitions of primacy in Ust Natha.

"I will inform you when Phaere's fate is known," she told him. "If she lives, we can decide how best to reawaken and exploit her attachment to you. Until then, you are dismissed." As his footsteps faded, she glanced to the female who stood just to the right of her chair. "Follow him," she said simply. The younger drow nodded and vanished without a word.

OOO

_Coward!_ Solaufein raged at himself as he left House Tathyyran. _Hiding behind falsehood while she endures unimaginable tortures for refusing to renounce her love for you!_

A hundred times since he had first discovered that Phaere had been taken to the Temple of Lolth, he had been on the verge of storming the place singlehandedly to find her, and a hundred times he had held himself back. To attempt to rescue her from the heart of the Spider Queen's domain would be to condemn both of them to certain death. So long as she remained alive, there was hope. She was strong, he had reasoned with himself, and the increasingly incredulous rumors that had circulated in Ust Natha had confirmed it, but his sleep was haunted by nightmares of her screaming to him for help, screams that turned into howling accusations of cowardice and avowals of hatred, bringing him awake with pounding heart and sweat-soaked body.

Matron Illaine was well aware of the truth of the situation, but there was political advantage to be gained by encouraging the belief that Phaere's downfall had come through her machinations, and he had no choice but to play along, clinging to an ever more slender thread of hope that, if Phaere survived and was released from the Temple, there might yet be the chance for them to escape together.

That hope had kept him alive, had allowed him to mouth the words to Illaine that made his stomach churn, and as his feet carried him, seemingly of their own volition, toward the Temple of Lolth, he knew that if Phaere was dead, his own life would end shortly after. But not, he promised himself, before he returned to Tathyyran and buried his blade to the hilt in Illaine's chest. He would die by the truth, proclaiming his love for Phaere as proudly as she had declared hers for him.

His step slowed as he caught sight of two figures emerging from the Temple of Lolth. Matron Ardulace was unmistakable, her robes flowing gracefully around her, silver hair falling nearly to her waist, her head high and her expression coldly arrogant, giving no sign that she noticed the murmurs of surprise that rose in her wake. To her right, and slightly behind her, strode a figure as familiar to Solaufein as the lines of his own face.

Phaere, neither dead nor broken, matched her mother's pace and bearing. She was clad once again in her ceremonial black armor with her two-handed sword sheathed across her back. Her beautiful face wore the forbidding expression that she assumed when acting as the Matron's bodyguard, and her crimson eyes swept from side to side, alert and challenging. There was no trace of the playful, passionate female that he had lain with and confessed his love to a month ago. This was the Phaere of old, before their affair had begun, plainly returned to her position as the heir of Despana.

Only another Matron or the most senior of the Handmaidens were permitted to meet Ardulace's eyes; since none of the other Matrons would openly admit their interest in the situation by being present, all heads bowed as the pair passed through the crowd. Solaufein followed suit, but as Ardulace's robes swept by him, he dared to raise his eyes. His gaze met briefly with Phaere's, but her pace never slowed, her expression never changed, and there was not even a flicker of recognition in her eyes as she passed by him.

He stared after her, his heart hammering in his chest, relief and fear warring within him. He had been all but certain that she was dead, had been more than ready to join her; to see her like this, as though everything that had happened in the last year had been nothing more than a dream... What in the Nine Hells had happened?

OOO

He returned to his quarters within the Male Fighters' Society, his head spinning; as head of the group, he had been given the largest of the apartments, but he had little taste for the extravagant furnishings and decor preferred by most drow as a way of displaying their status. Though unusual, the fact that the four chambers contained little more than was necessary for daily living served to enhance his reputation as a highly disciplined warrior and mage, and also worked to discourage frequent visitors. The last was a convenience that he was grateful for as he paced the sparsely furnished rooms in agitated confusion that he knew he would be hard pressed to conceal. He tried to sleep, but could only toss and turn in the bed that he had once shared with Phaere. At last he rose, pulled his clothes back on and made his way to the Female Fighters' Society, certain that he would be stopped.

No one sought to block his entrance, however, although he could feel the eyes following him as he climbed the stairs to the upper floors. Reaching the door to Phaere's quarters, he hesitated, then knocked. After several seconds, the door opened, and he found himself staring into Phaere's impassive eyes. They faced each other in silence for a long moment, then she turned and walked away from him, leaving the door open. Deciding to interpret this as an invitation, he followed her, closing the door behind him. Her quarters were larger than his, and considerably more luxurious, reflecting her status both as a female and as heir of House Despana, as well as her fondness for the pleasures of the senses. Thick, wine-colored rugs covered the floor, and richly woven tapestries depicting scenes of battle adorned the walls. The furniture was either carved and polished stone or wood, a product from the surface world rarely encountered in the Underdark. Cushions and pillows of red velvet padded the chairs and sofa, though at the moment, a fine layer of dust covered everything, mute testimony to the extended absence of the occupant; though slaves did the cleaning, evidently this had been curtailed during Phaere's confinement.

Involuntarily, his eye strayed to the open door of her bedroom, remembering the luxuriously soft bed, the black satin sheets, the erotically themed tapestries on the walls, the way Phaere had looked the last time they had made love in that bed…

"Why are you here?" she asked suddenly without turning around, her voice toneless.

He turned his attention back to her, watching as she stepped to a table of polished ebony and poured wine as dark and rich as blood from a crystal decanter into a goblet, weighing his words carefully. "I wanted to see –"

"How I was?" she cut him off, giving him a sideways glance, her expression revealing nothing as she took a sip of the wine. "How would you expect me to be after a month as the guest of the Handmaidens?"

_Not like this_, he wanted to say, feeling the last of his hope dying within him. "There was no way for me to reach you," he heard himself say, knowing even as he spoke that such weak sounding words were a mistake.

Her only response, however, was to arch one pale eyebrow. "Indeed," she agreed blandly, "but why would you have wanted to reach me? Your job was done, was it not?"

The words were like a stone to his heart; Illaine's rumors had reached the ears they were meant for. "Phaere, no!" he protested. "Those were lies, meant to elevate Illaine at Despana's expense. She knew nothing before you were taken. I love you –" The words were cut off as the goblet was hurled across the room, striking his forehead, opening a gash just above his right eye and drenching his face in the sweet smelling wine. An instant later, Phaere was on him, driving him backward with merciless blows. He stumbled over a low table and fell heavily to the floor, and she pinned him there with a knee in his chest, a dagger held to his throat.

"_Never _say those words to me again!" she hissed, her face contorted in rage. "I spent a month paying in blood and pain for those words…for refusing to renounce our love…only to find that it was a lie meant to weaken me and embarrass Despana."

He searched her eyes, looking for any hint of doubt, hurt, anything that could be reasoned with, but saw only burning hate and contempt looking back at him. "If that is what you truly believe," he said at last, "then kill me now."

She laughed, a harsh, cold sound. "Oh, no, my _love_," she said, sneering disdainfully at the last word. "I would not dream of making it so easy for you. I hope that you were well paid for your deception, male, because I have not even begun to exact my own repayment for every lash of the tentacle rods, every burning brand put to the soles of my feet, every inch of my skin that was torn from my body. For these, and for all the other tortures I endured, I will make you pay ten times over. Death would be far too merciful." As she spoke, she pressed the point of the dagger slowly against his skin until he could feel warm blood trickling down his neck, mixing with the wine.

"How charming…a lover's quarrel!"

Phaere lifted her eyes to glare coldly at Rhenael, who had entered silently and now stood observing them with spiteful amusement in her eyes. She had been one of many females to find Solaufein attractive, and had been highly displeased when Phaere had made her sole claim to him known. She had been even less pleased when he had rejected her attempts to lure him to her bed without Phaere's knowledge.

"You have been taught before about the dangers of going where you are not welcome," Phaere told her flatly, standing up and facing the other female, the dagger balanced expertly in one hand. "I suggest that you leave before I decide that you need a more lasting lesson."

"Why, sister!" Rhenael exclaimed, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. "I simply came by to congratulate you on your return to sanity." She glanced down at Solaufein with a smirk. "It seems that your plan to ruin my sister has failed," she informed him, the malicious gleam in her eye making it plain that she knew her words were untrue. Looking back to Phaere, she continued, "Since the romance is quite obviously over, I wonder if you would object if I found use for him? He is treacherous, it is true, but I have found that such things add a bit of intrigue that can be quite…arousing."

Phaere shrugged carelessly. "Do what you will with him; he means nothing to me." She regarded him with an unpleasant smile. "He would benefit from more training, in fact; his most recent performances left much to be desired."

"Oh, I am certain that I can correct whatever lapses occurred because of your weakness," Rhenael purred, gesturing to Solaufein to rise, ignoring the venomous glare that Phaere sent her. When he stood before her, she stepped to him, licking the trail of blood from his neck and sucking briefly at the wound before pulling his head down to kiss him harshly, forcing him to taste his own blood on her lips and tongue. She drew back, regarding him disapprovingly. "That will never do," she told him firmly. "You _will_ kiss me, male; I order it."

He stared at her impassively. Disobedience meant punishment, perhaps even death, but he was prepared to accept either before –

"You have been given an order, male," Phaere snarled behind him. "Obey, or I will punish you myself!"

Defeated, he closed his eyes, pulling Rhenael to him and kissing her savagely, feeling her body pressing against him, her hands moving to coax him into arousal, feeling his body start to respond in spite of the reluctance of his mind and heart.

"_Much_ improved," she breathed, drawing back again and casting a sly glance at Phaere over his shoulder. "I don't suppose that I could prevail upon you to permit us the use of your bedroom, sister?"

"You have your own quarters," Phaere replied coldly. "Take him there. The sight of him turns my stomach."

"As you wish," Rhenael replied, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Come along, my pet; we've a long night ahead of us." Taking his arm, she led him out the door; he followed her on feet of lead, unable to bring himself to look back.

As the pair entered Rhenael's quarters, a furtive figure left the shadows and descended the stairs, bound for House Tathyyran.

OOO

The door swung shut as Rhenael and Solaufein departed. Trapped within Ardulace's geas, restrained as efficiently and as ruthlessly as if she had been bound and gagged, Phaere could only watch and weep in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: I think I'm actually close to establishing a rotation for my current story queue, so expect updates on current stories at regular - if extended - intervals. I'm currently making myself write "I will not start anything new until I finish at least one current story" 500 times...hope it sticks._

_Thanks for the reviews and the patience; thanks to Amousca for the info on geases!_

_Special thanks and hugs to Tasharene, my ever-patient beta reader!_

* * *

Solaufein limped slowly, painfully along at the head of the column of warriors returning from battle. Despite the discomfort of his wounds, including a gash in his left thigh that he was certain had hit bone, he was among the least injured of the survivors. Nearly a quarter of their number had been left behind, either dead or too grievously hurt to move under their own power, but he knew that the surface elves had paid even more dearly.

But how was it possible?

For centuries, Ust Natha and Suldanesselar had sniped away at each other, each city sending small, covert raids against the denizens of the other, seeking out covert paths to and from the Underdark. Hidden paths were required, because the great tunnel, the one that would permit the launch of a large scale attack, was zealously guarded by Adalon, the great silver dragon.

Then, only days ago, the Matrons had announced that the way was open, and the attacks had begun. The drow had always held a certain advantage in the conflict; they could choose to venture from the Underdark only at night, but regardless of when the surfacers attacked, they were forced to enter the domain of the drow, where darkness reigned, whether or not the sun shone above.

What had become of the dragon, though? A battle resulting in its death would have shaken the whole of the Underdark, and dragons did not die of age or disease.

It had to be related to the visitors; though they were clearly not drow, they had been permitted into the city and given audience with the Matrons. He had not seen the pair closely, but there had been a _wrongness_ about them, an unnatural aura that had drawn attention even in Ust Natha, the oldest city of a race steeped in evil from its earliest history. It had been after their departure that it had been revealed that Adalon no longer barred the way to the surface. Almost immediately, all available forces had been mobilized, and messengers had been sent to other cities requesting additional resources, an unprecedented action. It was clear that a major offensive was in the works, and the surfacers that they had encountered thus far, while fighting with the disciplined skill of veteran warriors, nonetheless seemed strangely demoralized and distracted, regarding the attacking drow with an almost superstitious fear.

He would have cared little about whatever was afoot but for the fact that Despana seemed to be at the heart of it. It had been Ardulace who had made the triumphant proclamation that the dragon was no longer a danger, and Phaere…

He ground his teeth together, spitting curses that had nothing to do with the pain that lanced through him at every step. She had been the one who commanded him to lead the most recent assault, surprising the surface camp in the hour before dawn.

"It will be a bold move, and an unexpected one, to attack so close to sunrise," she told him, her expression daring him to challenge her, knowing that he would.

"If the battle is protracted, our advantage will be lost when the sky grows light," he told her, careful to maintain a tone of neutral deference. "Even before the sun has appeared over the horizon, it will be too bright for our warriors to see."

She had slapped him as casually as she might have swatted a fly. "One of your prowess should be able to prevent a protracted battle, should you not?" she asked, her eyes glittering with malice.

"Aye," he had replied curtly, tasting the blood from the cut she had opened on the inside of his lip. In the ten years since she had walked out of the Temple, her hate for him had continued to burn bright. True to her word, she never lost an opportunity to make him pay, whether in petty insults or indignities or, as now, in tasks that were plainly intended to put him into harm's way. He accepted the abuse; he had little choice. Matron Illaine insisted that he maintain contact with Despana's heir, ostensibly for the opportunity of reawakening her love for him, to Tathyyran's advantage.

It was a sham, of course. Illaine simply enjoyed his torment at Phaere's hands, her own subtle punishment for his attempted rebellion. If Phaere killed him, it would give Tathyyran a grievance against Deapana to exploit; he was nothing more than a pawn in the complex and unending game of intrigue that was played ceaselessly among the Houses.

Why did he stay?

To his left, his second-in-command stumbled, falling to his knees with a groan. Solaufein stopped and helped him to his feet. With no pursuit, greater concern could be shown the wounded, and they would likely need every fighter they had before the Matrons' goals – whatever they were – were achieved.

"Ust Natha is not far, Dierith," he forced himself to growl. "Will you walk through its gates, or must I carry you like an infant?"

Dierith jerked himself upright, his crimson eyes blazing. "I can walk!" he snapped, moving forward with renewed energy. Solaufein watched him for a moment, then began walking again, wondering how long it would be before the façade of harshness and cruelty that he was forced to maintain was no longer a pretense? Already, the youthful romanticism that had led him to believe that he and Phaere could make a life for themselves outside of drow society seemed like a fool's delusion. Though he still held faithful to Eilistraee, he had grown jaded, cynical; thoughts of escape had been crushed under the weight of apathy.

Initially, he had stayed in the hope that Phaere would forgive him, submitting meekly to any and all retributions that she meted out, but as the years wore on with no respite, that hope withered and died, replaced with insidious slowness by resentment and loathing for the woman who continued to hold sway over his heart.

He still loved her, fool that he was, but he hated her, too, the two opposing emotions so tightly intertwined within him that he no longer knew which was which. He had long since given up the hope that she would ever relent, and without that hope, the will to escape had died, as well. The book of surfacer poems and philosophy given to him by his mother, a book that he once read from daily, had lain concealed and unopened in his room for more than half a decade. More than once, he had been on the verge of destroying it, but something held him back. It was all that he had left of his mother, after all: the one drow who had known him as he truly was…or at least, as he had been.

They approached the bridge that led to Ust Natha; the guards saluted them, but made no move to assist even those moving with obvious difficulty. As the commander of this raid, it would be Solaufein's duty to see to the healing of the injured.

"You, there!" he barked to a young drow male as they passed through the gates into the marketplace. "Go to the Temple and request that healers come to the Male Fighters' Society to aid our warriors! We have punished the surface filth harshly, but we have many wounded!"

The youth departed at once, and the group continued their trek to the structure that housed most of the male warriors in Ust Natha. Solaufein had been the head of the group for more than two decades; his status there was another reason that Illaine had propagated the lie that his seduction of Phaere had been at her behest. Tathyyran had no other male warriors who could hope to claim the position if he were deposed.

"The conquering heroes return!" Phaere's mocking voice came as no great surprise. She stood outside the Female Fighters' Society, eyeing the column appraisingly as it approached.

"Lead them on and see to it that the healers tend to them," he said curtly to Dierith. "I will follow shortly." Stepping out of the ragged formation, he stood before the female, his expression stony.

Her gaze swept over him, a cruel smile curling her lips as she took note of the extent of his wounds. "So many injured!" she exclaimed, shaking her head in mock dismay. "Perhaps you are not so competent a leader as the Matrons believe!" During her time under the Handmaidens' torture, her position as head of the Female Fighters' Society had been taken by another, but upon her return, she had reclaimed it with swift brutality, challenging the other female to arena combat and slaying her in less than a minute.

"Two of the surfacers fell for every one of our warriors injured or killed," he replied flatly. "If the Matrons consider that to be poor leadership, then they will replace me; however, since you lacked the courage to dare the rising sun, your opinion will matter little in the decision."

Her eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, he thought that she might actually draw steel on him. He had begun to goad her thusly more and more often, but he could not say if it was from resentment or the hope that he would eventually anger her enough to kill him. It was plain that she had intended for the raid to fail disastrously, with the blame falling upon him. Despite their losses, the damage inflicted upon the surface elves made it certain that the assault would be viewed as a success. Phaere might gain some credit for suggesting the raid, but the greatest honors would go to those who had seen the plan through to a successful conclusion.

"Get out of my sight!" she hissed, spinning on her heel and striding up the stairs to the entrance of the females' quarters.

"As you command, so do I obey," he replied, bowing as well as his injured leg would allow him. It would have been impossible for anyone overhearing to construe his response as anything but respectful, but he knew that she would hear it for the bitter mockery that he intended it to be. Without waiting to see her response, he turned and limped after the others.

OOO

He awoke in his quarters later that night, feeling rested after the deep sleep that invariably followed a major healing. The gnawing sensation of hunger below his breastbone was also expected, as magical healing drew largely, though not wholly, from the body's reserves to achieve its goal.

Millenia of separation from the sun had resulted in an abandonment of the diurnal rhythms of the surface, but convenience dictated a customary cycle of sleeping and waking. Much of Ust Natha would be abed at this hour, but most of the taverns were always open for business. Rising, he dressed and left the Male Fighters' Society, headed for his preferred tavern.

He had almost reached it when his eye fell on an all too familiar figure moving in the direction of the gates.

Phaere. Alone.

_What is she up to?_ Glancing about to be certain that he was unobserved, he murmured a spell, cloaking himself in invisibility, and followed her. His curiosity increased when she strode out the gates unaccompanied. She was a formidable fighter, but the dangers of the Underdark were many; few drow ventured away from the cities alone. Even fewer returned alive.

He moved silently in her wake, bypassing the guards with ease, part of him noting the lapse even as he pondered the female's intent. Whatever she was doing was in all likelihood undertaken to further Despana's interests, which meant that his interests lay in finding out exactly what she was about.

At least, that was the reason that he gave himself for following her. As they moved deeper into the caverns, however, he found himself watching the shadows around her, ready to intervene if a serious threat manifested.

_Sentimental fool!_ he berated himself. Still, if she found herself in a situation that required him to come to her aid, it would only humiliate and anger her, regardless of his motivations.

He frowned as the path that she chose made her destination increasingly clear.

_The svirfneblin? What possible reason could she have for seeking them out?_ Like other drow, Phaere had shown nothing but contempt for the deep gnomes, but within minutes, his suspicions were confirmed as she reached the outskirts of the gnomish town and entered without hesitation. He followed, the narrow streets and sudden turns forcing him to maintain a closer distance than he would have preferred, but she remained unaware of his presence, and the fearful manner in which the gnomes gave way before her opened a clear path for him, as well.

At last, she paused before a small house, then stepped through the door without bothering to knock. Settling himself in an alley on the opposite side of the street, he waited. After perhaps half an hour, she emerged, her expression a mixture of disdain and cold satisfaction. He remained where he was; she was undoubtedly returning to Ust Natha, and the information that he sought was here.

After giving her sufficient time to be well outside the town, he strode across the street and entered the house, dismissing the invisibility spell as the door closed behind him.

"Not a word if you wish to live," he growled to the wide-eyed gnome who stared at him from behind a workbench. "The female who just left: what did she want with you?"

The gnome shook his head wildly. "Mustn't be telling anyone! Killing me if I do, she will be!"

"And I'll kill you if you don't," Solaufein promised, but he knew it to be a lie. Aside from the fact that the gnome was old and unarmed, he was the only way to discover Phaere's intentions. Reaching into the pouch at his hip, he pulled out several gold coins and tossed them on the table before the gnome. "Speak and profit, or remain silent and die."

The gnome swallowed hard, staring hungrily at the coins, and Solaufein knew that he had guessed correctly: Phaere had relied on coercion to force the gnome's cooperation with whatever her plans were. "Ordering a commission from Gijak, she was," he said at last, "with payment being Gijak's life!"

Solaufein nodded, his eyes narrowed in thought. "And this commission was?" There was no shortage of artisans in Ust Natha; for her to have sought out the svirfneblin for whatever she sought was beyond unusual. He could cause no small amount of trouble by revealing this fact alone, but the gnome's next words made it clear that the stakes were much, much higher.

"Eggs," Gijak replied. "The female be wanting Gijak to make four eggs that be looking just like silver dragon eggs, but being marked so that only she being able to tell they not real."

Solaufein was still. Dragon eggs. _So that's how they did it._ Somehow, they had managed to steal Adalon's eggs; it was the only thing short of death that would keep the silver dragon from interfering with their attacks.

But why have false eggs made? Adalon would know that they were not real, so they could not be intended to deceive the dragon. The deception was intended for another, and the fact that Phaere had come in stealth to the svirfneblin to have the fakes made strongly suggested that the intended target was another drow…

"Gijak must make the eggs," the gnome blurted fearfully, and Solaufein realized that he had been lost in thought for an extended time. "The female will be killing Gijak if he does not!"

"By all means, make the eggs," Solaufein told him, reaching back inside his pouch, "but I have another commission for you…and I will pay well for it, as well as for your silence."


	4. Chapter 4

Solaufein strode through the streets toward the gates, his expression forbidding enough to make others give him a wide berth, anger, fear and impatience simmering in his veins. Bad enough that he had been chosen to shepherd the latest group of arrivals, a ragtag group from Ched Nasad, but the duty that had been assigned to him…

As he entered the market plaza, he heard an angry female voice rise above the noise of the crowd:

"Do not address me directly, worm! Any more impertinence from you and you shall feel the lash of the tentacle rod as it flays the flesh from your bones!"

He groaned silently and increased his pace. They were even bigger fools than he had originally thought, and he was under no illusion about who would be punished for their lapse.

Handmaiden Imrae glared at him as he approached. "Your charges appear to need instruction in how to behave in the presence of their betters."

Solaufein glared at the leader of the group, a warrior named Veldrin. "When you are in the presence of one of Lolth's favored…or a Matron Mother…you do not speak until spoken to, fool!" The dolt at least had the sense to look abashed, and one of the others, a female who evidently had more intelligence, was glaring at the male.

"Forgive me, Handmaiden Imrae," he said, turning to the offended female, knowing that supplication was required. "This is the worthless excrement from Ched Nasad; had I known the extent of his stupidity, I would have had him taken to the slave pens when I first laid eyes upon him. I shall see to it that he is tortured most severely for this!"

"You shall do nothing with them, male," Imrae said, eyeing him with obvious satisfaction. "They will have to do. You will be punished later. For now, explain to your charges what it is that the Matrons require of them, and be quick about it. The Spider Queen demands my attention."

"At once, Handmaiden," Solaufein replied, resigning himself to whatever punishment was devised for him. Turning his attention back to the Nasadians, he made no attempt to hide his growing antipathy. "A Matron Mother's eldest daughter ran afoul of devourers while scouting."

The male's brow creased in puzzlement. "Devourers?"

Solaufein stared at him in disbelief, fighting to control his rising temper, not daring to look behind him at Imrae. "The illithid, you dolt! The tentacled psions that devour brains…though they would plainly be hard pressed to find yours!" He saw anger flash in Veldrin's eyes and felt a surge of anticipation. Killing this fool would be the perfect release for his frustration…

He caught himself. There was no time to waste on such things. These were the underlings that he had been given to work with, and the delay of replacing them could be fatal for Phaere, as well as himself. He met Veldrin's gaze unflinchingly, until the female hissed something and elbowed the other male, who dropped his eyes.

"Her fool companions fled or were slaughtered, and she was taken captive," he continued in a level voice. "They know a prize when they have one, the devourers. They will bring her to their city, and should they reach it, she shall be lost forever." Though a part of him wondered if that would not be the best outcome - for his sake, at least - the notion of never seeing her again, knowing the fate she would endure... It was a moot point, anyway; he had been ordered to rescue her, and failure would likely cost him his life.

"Handmaiden Imrae has given me a blessed item of Lolth that will pull the devourers from their astral travel," he continued, knowing that his face gave no hint of his thoughts. "I know where the entrance to their caverns lies; we can ambush them there." He handed the male a roll of parchment. "I hope that you are capable of reading a map. This shows where you are to meet me. Resupply yourselves and leave within the hour. I will scout ahead and select the best spot for our attack. Do not tarry overly long, Veldrin."

"Indeed," Imrae purred, studying the group of Nasadians appraisingly. "There are many exquisite horrors that may be found for you in the Demonweb Pits, should you fail, and if you decide to run, the driders will eventually track you down. As for you, Solaufein," she looked down at him with glittering eyes, "the Matron Mother expects even better from you. Report to the temple before you leave the city."

"As you wish, Handmaiden," Solaufein replied, keeping his face expressionless. They needed him functional, so whatever punishment was meted out to him would be short in duration…but exceedingly painful while it lasted.

OOO

Three hours later, the soft scuff of boots on stone alerted him to their approach well before his eyes saw movement in the darkness.

"Silence, fools!" he hissed as they drew closer. "If you alert the illithid to our presence, I will kill you myself!"

"Are they close, then?" Veldrin asked, glancing around warily, one hand on the sword at his hip.

"Drawing closer," Solaufein replied, reaching up to touch the amulet that Imrae had given him. He had kept it outside of his armor, but evil still radiated from the golden medallion and the ornately sculpted spider at its center. As always, he felt a quiver of apprehension at being so close to anything blessed by Lolth, but Eilistraee had protected him from discovery thus far, and he had to trust that she would continue to do so. The vibrations were still faint…but definitely stronger than they had been moments ago. "They will reach this place soon, and I hope that you fight better than you think. Have you any questions? Ask now or not at all."

"Did you receive those because of my behavior toward Handmaiden Imrae?" Veldrin asked, eying the welts that were visible on his arms.

Solaufein blinked. That was not a question that he had been anticipating. "I got them for not thrashing you into proper subservience before sending you to Handmaiden Imrae," he growled.

"It was not my intent to anger the Handmaiden," the male said quietly. "I am sorry that you were punished for my lapse. We have healing potions, if you wish to use one."

Solaufein stared at him, wondering if all Nasadians were this strange. "I've no need for your sympathy…or your potions," he snapped. If it were discovered that he had been healed, the tentacle rods would just be used again, and more viciously than the first time. "Destroy the illithids; that will please me more than any apology."

"As you wish," Veldrin said with a shrug. "I simply thought that you could fight more effectively if you were not injured."

Solaufein was about to retort that it would take far worse to hamper his fighting ability when the amulet's vibration intensified suddenly, creating a faint but unmistakable hum. "They come!" he whispered. "Ready yourselves!" Drawing his own longsword with one hand, he held the amulet in the other, focusing on its power as from the corner of his eye he saw Veldrin and his five companions spreading out and readying their weapons.

Lifting the amulet over his neck, he threw it away from himself, onto the floor of the cavern, where the hum continued to grow in intensity. The air around it began to flicker, and abruptly, a dozen illithid appeared, looking about in obvious confusion. A single drow stood in their midst, head down and hands limp at her sides. Leaping forward, Solaufein dragged her away from them, then spun back to attack the nearest of the devourers, tongues of magefire leaping from the hand that did not hold his sword. Veldrin and the other five engaged the remaining illithid, and Solaufein had to admit that they seemed more than competent; though the psionic ability of the illithid had been dampened by the amulet, they were still formidable opponents. Finally, Solaufein spun away from his third kill and found none left standing. Trusting that Veldrin could tend to his own wounded, he turned to Phaere, who was leaning against the wall of the cavern, shaking her head slowly, her expression a mask of confusion.

"Sol-Solaufein?" Her eyes met his, and for a moment, the look of wonder in them stopped his breath. In the brief space between heartbeats, he looked into her eyes and saw _her_: the woman that he loved, looking back at him. The look vanished with the next heartbeat, however, and the expression of supercilious contempt that replaced it was so plain that it seemed impossible that he had truly seen anything softer in her face.

"So…Matron Mother sent you, did she?" she asked, her eyes glowing spitefully. "How that must gall you, risking your life to save mine."

"I did as I was commanded," Solaufein said flatly, hurt and anger warring within him. _You imagined it, you fool!_ he raged at himself, but his heart refused to stop racing at the memory, imagined or not. Her eyes…

"Yes, you did…as any male should. You have done well enough, I suppose," she said carelessly, her gaze going to the others, "you and your…assistance. Who is this male with you?"

He stiffened at the tone in her voice, knowing even before he looked who she was speaking of. "His name is-"

"I am sure he can speak for himself, male." She cut him off with a dismissive gesture that set his teeth on edge. She approached the other male, deliberately eying him from head to toe. "Am I correct? You have a tongue, yes? Who might you be?"

"I am Veldrin, of Ched Nasad," the male replied, returning her gaze boldly, clearly appreciative of her beauty…much to the obvious displeasure of a petite female who stood nearby.

"Indeed? A foreigner?" she raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "How very odd. We shall have to speak more, you and I, once we are back in Ust Natha. I shall head back to the city on my own and inform the Matron Mother of your…successful service, Solaufein. You have proven useful. You should be grateful."

Solaufein had been so busy seething over her permitting this strange male to stare at her so openly, something that any other male would have been soundly punished for, that he did not hear her final words at first. As they sunk in, he stared at her in disbelief. "You are going to return on your own? What if you encounter danger again? I will not be responsible for –"

"I appreciate your touching concern," she smirked, "but I can handle myself, Solaufein. And it is my command, so you have no choice." Without another word, she turned her back on him and walked away.

He managed to hold his temper in until he was sure she was out of earshot. "Blasted, arrogant wench!" he snarled.

"Arrogant, indeed, given that she has already required rescue once," Veldrin observed, staring curiously in the direction she had taken.

Solaufein glared irritably at him. The fact that the other male's thoughts so closely mirrored his own did not appreciably lessen his disgruntlement over his brazen scrutiny of Phaere. "I shall follow her, to ensure her over-confidence does not endanger us all," he growled. "Tend to your wounded and return to the city on your own, Veldrin. You will be sent for when the Matrons have further need of you." Turning, he stalked off without waiting for a reply.

OOO

Phaere made her way through the caverns toward Ust Natha, her progress swift and sure, giving no sign of the waves of pain that surged through her.

Over the last ten years, she had stopped fighting the geas; slowly, her mind had begun to mirror the actions that Ardulace's spell forced upon her. She had begun to truly believe that Solaufein had betrayed her, that she hated him, and seeing him begin to reciprocate her hatred only strengthened it.

If the any of the fools who had permitted her capture still lived, she would kill them herself! The devourers had dominated her completely, reducing her to a mindless thrall…but not before she had felt her will being stripped away, layer by layer, examined with detached curiosity by her captors. She remembered giving voice to one final, terrified scream, then…nothing.

Awareness had returned to her with dizzying abruptness; she had seen the drow fighting the illithid, but not until the last of the devourers had fallen did she realize who it was that had pushed her clear of the fighting.

The sight of his face had triggered a surge of emotion that she had thought long dead, but even as she realized that the domination of the illithids had interfered with the geas somehow, even as she saw the hope glowing in his eyes, the geas reasserted itself, trapping her once again behind its forced façade of hate and contempt, punishing her at the same time for the forbidden emotions that she had dared to feel.

Just as she could not show love, so the geas also prevented her from showing the pain that it inflicted on her. Her mask of indifference had been perfect as she had toyed with the newcomer, knowing how it would enrage Solaufein, but inside, the bitter cynicism that replaced the hope in his eyes tore at her heart…which in turn incited greater pain as punishment.

It had been foolish to return alone; her weapons had been left behind at the site of her capture, but she had no desire to bear the torment of making the journey back to Ust Natha in Solaufein's company.

As the gates of the city came into sight, she slowed her steps, pushing her emotions back down into the deep place where they had hidden for so long. Ardulace's plot to raise herself and Despana to primacy was close to fruition; she would tolerate nothing that might interfere. If she suspected that her daughter's love for Solaufein had revived, she would have him killed. Phaere gritted her teeth. The plot that she had contrived as a simple plan to usurp her mother had acquired a new urgency. With Ardulace dead, the geas would be broken, and as the Matron of Despana, Phaere could choose her own Patron. The geas prevented Phaere from attacking her mother, or even ordering another to harm her, but the false dragon eggs had a subtlety that Ardulace had evidently not anticipated. All that was required was someone to switch them with the real ones…and the Nasadian male looked to be one who could be easily manipulated with the promise of favors…

Newly resolved, her step quickened once again. Within weeks, she would be the Matron of Despana, or she would be dead…and it no longer mattered to her which.


	5. Chapter 5

The knock on his door came as no surprise. Phaere's antagonism toward him had increased tenfold since the rescue, triggering an answering surge of resentment and anger that had culminated in his open defiance of her today, in front of the Nadsadians, no less. It was an affront that she would not ignore, and he had spent the hours since in a state of detached resignation, uncertain only of the manner in which she would order his death.

Word of his insolence had almost certainly reached the ears of Matron Illaine, and the fact that no messenger had come to summon him to Tathyyran for a reprimand meant that he was now worth more to his House dead than alive. Despana was drawing ever nearer to the fruition of some plot that would place them firmly in the position of First House in Ust Natha, and Illaine was desperate to do anything to halt that ascension; his murder, if it could be proven to be at Phaere's command, was the best chance of disrupting whatever plan was in the works.

Solaufein glanced briefly at his sword, resting in its scabbard on the weapon rack, before moving to the door unarmed, opening it to reveal Veldrin and the five others from Ched Nasad. An unsurprising choice; it had become all too obvious in recent days that she was grooming the outsiders – their leader, in particular – for some purpose, flattering him outrageously and dropping broad hints about the rewards that came to those who served faithfully, always with a cold-eyed smirk toward Solaufein as she did so.

Still, the warrior and his companions had proven themselves competent and canny allies, fighting with a unity that spoke of both experience and mutual respect. The warrior mage more than once found himself wondering if Ched Nasad was so very different from Ust Natha; that a male led this group was unusual in itself, but even more so was the obvious fact that none of his underlings sought to supplant him, nor did Veldrin truly treat his companions as subordinates, although Solaufein had noticed that his manner became markedly harsher when he knew that he was being observed. He had never openly rejected Phaere's advances, but neither did he fawn over her; this could either have been a ploy, carefully calculated to pique her interest, or could have meant that the Nasadian truly had no interest in the convoluted politics of Ust Natha.

He had developed a grudging and wary respect for the outsiders, and felt a stab of ironic disappointment at seeing them here now; politics and power had won the day, it seemed.

He stepped back to permit them to enter, his face giving no clue to his thoughts. "I was under the impression that we had been given a day of rest," he said quietly. "Have the Matron Mothers given us another task so soon?"

Veldrin shook his head his expression enigmatic. "Phaere has ordered me to kill you, Solaufein," he said simply, his crimson eyes watching the warrior-mage carefully.

Solaufein returned his gaze just as warily, wondering what sort of trickery was afoot; Veldrin had not seemed the type to play games, yet neither he nor any of his companions had made any attempt to draw their weapons. 'It was only a matter of time," he replied with a shrug, feeling…nothing. No fear, no anger, no hate; only a crushing weariness, a desire to end the empty farce that his life had become.

The other male exchanged a puzzled glance with the eldest of the females who accompanied him, a bleak-faced warrior named Jaheil, then turned back to Solaufein. "You don't seem overly concerned," he remarked, unable to hide his curiosity.

"The bitch has been killing me by inches for years," he said with no real heat, his voice matter-of-fact. "I've grown weary of the game; let it end here, if that is her desire." Phaere – the real Phaere – had died ten years ago because of him; his death now, by her command, would be some measure of justice, at least.

"Accommodating of you," Veldrin drawled, "but I wasn't planning on actually doing it."

Solaufein scowled at him, thoroughly perplexed now. "Why not?" he demanded in a growl. "if you think to curry favor with House Tathyrran, you're a fool. My death is their best chance of bringing down Despana." He snorted mirthlessly. "Even if you spare me, Matron Illaine will likely have me killed and try to frame Phaere; my outburst today made me too obvious a target for her to resist."

The second of the three females – and the one who had been the most displeased with Phaere's interest in Veldrin – laughed scornfully. "So, you would just lay down and die, male? It is small wonder that she scorns you so openly now."

"Enough, Viconia," Veldrin admonished her, and she subsided, though she regarded him with a contemptuous sneer.

He glared at her. Evidently, they had heard the rumors. "There was a time, Viconia, when Phaere looked at me in much the same way that you regard Veldrin when you think that no one watches." He saw her stiffen and knew that his taunt had struck home. "Such weakness may be tolerated in Ched Nasad, but you are fortunate, indeed, indeed, that there are few in Ust Natha who would recognize the significance of such glances."

"You loved her, then?" Veldrin asked quietly.

"I did," Solaufein admitted, "and she loved me…for all the good it did us. The Handmaidens and Matron Ardulace extinguished every emotion in her, save hate and ambition. For ten years, I have been nothing to her but a reminder of her weakness and what it cost her."

"And what has she been to you?" the other wanted to know.

"A source of guilt and regret," he replied curtly, turning away from them, giving Veldrin every opportunity to bury a blade in his back, if he so chose.

"You still love her, don't you?" Veldrin observed slyly.

The warrior-mage spun, his face dark with anger. "If you are going to kill me, then be done with it!" he exploded in frustration. "If you are not, then be on your way so that my own House can do it!"

"Would you consider a third alternative?" Veldrin offered after a brief silence.

Solaufein regarded him suspiciously. "And what might that be?" he asked.

"Leave this place," Veldrin urged him. "Let Phaere and your own House think you dead and strike at each other as it pleases them."

"Leave?" He stared at the male, trying to divine what treachery he intended. "And where shall I go? Shall I ask the devourers for sanctuary? Or seek asylum among the svirfneblin?"

Veldrin glanced questioningly at his companions, then turned back to Solaufein. "Come with us when we leave this place," he said quietly. "It's plain that you don't belong here."

"Come with you?" His gaze swept the group in bafflement before returning to Veldrin; the guarded arrogance that was the hallmark of virtually all drow was gone, and the other male's eyes held something that he had not seen since the death of his mother. "You do not speak of Ched Nasad, do you?" Unbidden, a spark of hope leaped to life within him.

"You serve the Moon Maiden," he breathed in awe, but the hope died as quickly as it had risen as he took in the uncomprehending expressions that most of them wore. His eyes flickered toward his sword, gauging the distance; death he had been willing to face, but he had all but shouted out that he was a worshipper of Eilistraee. A quick death in battle would be the least of what awaited him, if they chose to make their knowledge public.

_Do you fear torture so much, coward?_ he asked himself bitterly_. Could you bear even a fraction of the pain that she endured for your sake before breaking?_ Squaring himself, he stood before them proudly. "I follow Lady Silverhair," he proclaimed defiantly. "Kill me now, or deliver me to the Matrons. I will never renounce her."

Imirith, the youngest of the females, regarded him quizzically. "Lady Silverhair?" she murmured, then her face lit with reconition. "Oh, you mean Eili-"

"Silence!" Viconia snapped at the younger woman. "Do not speak that name here! It risks drawing the wrong sort of attention," she added to Veldrin, "but I might have known that this one would choose to follow Her."

"Noted," Veldrin replied, eyeing Solaufein bemusedly. "And no, we don't worship her, but as long as we're sharing secrets that could get us killed…" He cocked his head, his eyes gleaming with a humor that was as un-drowlike as the compassion that had been there moments earlier. "We're not really drow…except for Viconia, that is. We're surfacers. Imoen and I are human." He nodded toward the young mage, who gave a flourishing bow, her eyes dancing with long repressed mirth.

"Jaheira is a half-elf." The bleak faced female nodded at him curtly.

"Keldorn is a human, and a paladin of The True." The eldest of the males bowed slightly to him as Solaufein cast about in his mind, finally recognizing the title as one given to Torm.

"I knew that you were different the first time I saw you," he said, his voice deep and assured, calming, despite the inherent harshness of the drow tongue. "You shine like a light in this accursed place."

"One can only hope that he is not so transparent to others of our race," Viconia observed tartly, clearly still peevish at Solaufein's earlier astuteness.

"If he was, he wouldn't have survived, much less attain the status that he has," Veldrin reasoned, "and perhaps his goddess revealed him to Keldorn because he is meant to come with us. The quiet fellow over there is Valygar." He tilted his head toward a taciturn male whom Solaufein had rarely heard speak. "And my name is Caelor."

He stepped forward, his right hand extended. Solaufein, feeling as though he had fallen into a black lotus trance, took it in his own. _Now_, he thought. Now was when Phaere would stroll in, her cold smirk in place, having taken everything from him before she took his life with her own blade.

"Why are you here?" he asked hollowly as Veldrin/Caelor shook his hand.

"We are following two other surfacers," the warrior replied. "They have taken…something of value to us." He exchanged a glance with Imirith/Imoen. "Their names were Irenicus and –"

"Bodhi," Solaufein finished flatly, his upper lip curled in distaste. "They were here…they spent hours shut away with the Matron Mothers, but I do not know what was discussed, but it was shortly after they left that the attacks on the surface were intensified." He frowned as the things seen and heard over the past weeks began to fit together in his mind. "They were the ones to do it," he mused, half to himself. "Not even the strongest of the Matrons could have deceived the Silver One."

"To steal her eggs, you mean?" Caelor asked, chuckling at the drow's surprised expression. "Adalon is the reason we're here, looking like this." He swept a hand downward, indicating his appearance. "Im's good, but she couldn't pull off an illusion this complex for this long. We get her eggs back, she gets us out of the Underdark and back on Irenicus' trail."

"This thing that they took from you must be of great value, if you would take such a chance to pursue them," Solaufein observed shrewdly. "If you are discovered, you will pray for death long before it is granted to you."

Viconia bristled visibly at this, but Caelor stilled her with a gesture. "The same is true for followers of the Moon Maiden, I assume?" he asked, his lips quirked in an ironic smile.

Solaufein nodded, feeling an answering smile on his lips at the surfacer's canniness. They were each dependant upon the other now. And yet, he had not needed to reveal their secret; they could have gained much by turning him over to the Matrons, or simply killing him as Phaere had ordered. They had much to lose by sparing him and little to gain…as far as they knew.

"I may be able to help you," he murmured, gesturing toward his open bedroom door. "If I may?"

Caelor glanced toward the weapon rack, which sat beside the bedroom door, then nodded his assent.

Solaufein entered the room, crouching beside the bed, his fingers sliding along the platform on which it rested until they found the hidden release. A panel slid aside, revealing the cloth bundle that contained the long-untouched book of poems and a larger bundle, lumpy and encased in a burlap sack. Leaving the book still untouched, he withdrew the bag and brought it to Caelor.

"Fakes," he said as the surfacer peered into the bag and let out a surprised oath. "Phaere is planning some treachery; she forced a svirfneblin artisan to craft a set of false eggs, subtly marked so that only she could recognize them for what they were. Chance led me to follow her on that errand, and I commissioned a set of my own." Reaching into the bag, he drew out one of the four 'eggs': the size of a man's head, slightly ovoid in shape and glistening faintly silver. "These are not marked." He shook his head slowly. "I was not even certain at the time what use I would have for them, but you could switch these with the real eggs with none the wiser…even Phaere. It would give you time to escape before the deception was discovered."

"And you?" Caelor wanted to know as he accepted the false egg back from the drow and returned it to the bag with its mates. "Still determined to die?"

Solaufein hesitated, the part of him that had been stripped of all hope protesting cynically that what these intruders proposed was doomed to failure. The deepest, most carefully hidden recesses of his heart still belonged to Eilistraee, however, and he knew that this was as close to a sign as he could have ever asked for from her. It was time to truly trust Her, and if he died in the attempt, his death would at least be an honorable one.

"I will come with you when you leave," he said. "For now, I will leave Ust Natha and hide in the Underdark; return to Phaere and tell her that you have killed me." His lips twisted in a bitter smile. "She expects proof of some kind, I suppose?"

Caelor nodded. "She asked us to bring her your piwawfi cloak."

The words struck him like a slap to the face, and he winced as memories of the moonless night beside the spring arose to taunt him. Why would she have chosen that item, of all that she could have selected? He shook himself, schooling his expression back to emotionless neutrality as he retrieved the cloak from its hook on the wall, tossing it carelessly to Caelor. "A small enough price to pay," he said with a shrug.

The human eyed him curiously, but made no comment as he folded the cloak and tucked it under one arm. "Have you any idea where the real eggs might be kept?"

"The strongroom in the Temple would be the most likely place," Solaufein replied with a grimace. "Many relics and items of value are stored there, but it is heavily guarded, and only a few have the key. I am sorry to say that I am not one of them."

"No need to apologize," Caelor told him. "You've given us something that gives us a fighting chance of getting away with the eggs undetected. We just have to figure out how to get to them." He grinned at Imoen, who gave him a saucy wink in return.

The young woman's uninhibited spirit triggered a flash of memory that left him warring with himself before giving voice to his next words. "If Phaere is planning to steal the eggs, then she undoubtedly has some means of gaining access to them." His face grew bleak. "By enlisting you to kill me, she is likely trying to ensnare you in her scheming; if she were to give you her false eggs to replace the real ones, then those that I had made could add another layer of confusion, giving you more time to escape."

Caelor nodded slowly, watching the drow carefully. "You do realize that if she is planning on stealing the eggs, she'll be killed if she is caught?"

Solaufein's expression hardened. "I know what will happen," he said in a flat voice, "but the woman I loved died years ago. It is time for me to let go of false hope and follow the path that my goddess would have me tread." He thought for a moment; for them to simply claim to have killed him in his quarters would stretch credulity, particularly when no body was found. "Allow me to gather my things and leave Ust Natha; it is not unheard of for me to undertake solo patrols," he added with a bitter twist of his lips, "particularly after I have clashed with Phaere. Wait for a time, then meet me where you killed the svirfneblin patrol…or did you?"

As Caelor shook his head, the drow felt an obscure relief; while he had no real affection for the deep gnomes, Phaere's orders to kill them had merely been an excuse to exercise her power over both himself and 'Veldrin'. "Good," he said simply. "When you return to her, you can claim to have killed me in the Underdark and disposed of my body in one of the deep crevasses."

"That sounds like a good plan," Caelor replied after a questioning glance at the paladin.

Years of being subject to the whims of the Matrons had given Solaufein the ability to ready himself on a moment's notice; it was quick work to don his armor and weapon, and retrieve his travel pack from the corner where it lay, already provisioned for a three day patrol. After a moment's hesitation, he knelt beside the bed, retrieving the cloth-wrapped book and laying it gently in the top of the pack before tying it securely shut.

"I am ready," he announced, coming out of his bedroom to stand before them, marveling at the illusion that Adalon had wrought. If not for the expressions on their faces, the emotions so openly displayed, he would have been able to believe that he had imagined the conversation of the previous minutes.

"Not quite," Caelor corrected him with a slight smile, tossing the piwawfi cloak back to him. "Make sure that you're seen wearing that on the way out."

OOO

Hours later, the six returned, their outward demeanors once more indistinguishable from the other drow that walked the streets of Ust Natha. They paused as they drew near the massive stone building that housed the Female Fighter's Society, and Caelor stepped away from the group.

"I do not like her insistence upon seeing you alone," Viconia growled, not having to feign the displeasure in her face and voice.

"That decision is not yours to make," Veldrin growled in return, allowing only the faintest flicker of his true emotions to show in his eyes as he faced her with a reproving scowl. "Wait for me in our quarters; I will return when she has finished with me."

He could feel her eyes burning into his back as he walked away, warning him. She still did not understand that it was more than carnal desire that drew him to her, and carnality was all that Phaere had to offer him. It was all too easy to pretend not to notice the psychotic bitch's advances. Solaufein had to be out of his mind to still be nursing old feelings for her.

Ascending the stairs, he knocked upon her door, and was not overly surprised when she answered wearing only a sheer, silken robe of deep crimson. "It is done?" she wanted to know as she stepped aside to let him enter, closing the door in his wake.

"It is," he replied, drawing the cloak from his pack and handing it to her, trying to decide how he would escape her obvious intentions this time. "His body is at the bottom of the deepest gorge we could find; no one will ever see the body, or tie his disappearance to Despana."

"Good…good," she said, accepting the cloak. An unreadable expression flickered across her face. "It is truly done, then," she murmured, as though to herself, then her expression hardened as she turned away from him. "All love is foolish," she pronounced, tossing the cloak carelessly onto a chair, but she fell silent for a long moment.

"You have done well, Veldrin," she said without turning around. "It is time to introduce you to the Matron Mother of House Despana. Mother Ardulace is anxious to see the male who has done so much for Ust Natha. Meet me in front of the Temple in one hour's time, and I will take you to her."

"As you wish," he replied with the mix of obedience and confidence that so obviously intrigued her, puzzled by the apparent change in her plans for him but too relieved to tempt fate by questioning his luck.

"Do not be late, Veldrin." This admonishment was her usual way of dismissing him, so he simply bowed and let himself out.

As she heard the door close, she spun away from the cloak, the geas tearing at her mercilessly; it refused to allow her to grieve or to show the pain it inflicted upon her, but she had not wanted Veldrin to see the light sheen of sweat that could not be suppressed.

_All love is foolish._ Her words of ten years ago, returning to mock her, echoed by his reply:

_Then I am a fool…and willingly so._

She had dared to feel a flicker of hope after her rescue from the illithid, but Ardulace had crushed it with her casual order, given only the day before, to have Solaufein killed. She could not disobey, could not warn him; she could only do as her Matron Mother commanded. He was dead now, killed by agents that she had commanded. There was nothing remaining for her now but to finish the plan that would bring about Ardulace's downfall, and revenge was the only motive left to her. Veldrin was a powerful male; she would bind him to her with greed and lust, then enlist him and his subordinates to switch her false eggs with the real dragon eggs in the Temple strongroom. The key was already in her possession, given to her by a foolish old woman who thought her power over her daughter complete. She would know only too late just how wrong she was.

Despana would have a new Matron, Phaere promised herself coldly: one who would make the old seem weak by comparison. No one would ever have power over her again.


End file.
